


Bond Girl

by somethingnerdythiswaycomes



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossdressing, M/M, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingnerdythiswaycomes/pseuds/somethingnerdythiswaycomes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your partner will be at your room shortly,” M said through the earpiece Bond was wearing.  Bond still had no idea which beautiful woman would be joining him for the mission, and M's message wasn't exactly enlightening.<br/>A knock came on the door; Bond looked over at it.  He stalked over with his gun out, just in case.  The door swung open with a quick pull to reveal Q’s forever bored expression, and he really should have guessed.  The high-collared black dress with a slit from the hem to mid-thigh, however, was not anything he would have expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bond Girl

“Your partner will be at your room shortly,” M said through the earpiece Bond was wearing. Bond had been straightening the lapels of his jacket, making sure they laid perfectly over his chest, but paused when M spoke.

“I thought you had trouble finding someone,” he replied, hiding his interest by starting to readjust his cuffs.

“The answer was quite simple, once we widened our search,” was M’s response, which didn’t really give Bond more information. “Your partner will be able to get into the security system with no trouble, and the safe as well. You’ll have to do the fighting.”

A knock came on the door; Bond looked over at it. “It seems my partner’s here,” he told M, leaving the bathroom and walking to the door. He opened it with one hand, the other casually reaching for his Walther PPK, just in case.

The door swung open to reveal Q’s forever bored expression, and he immediately relaxed. And then, finally, the rest of his quartermaster’s appearance registered. His hair was longer, the work of extensions most likely, which was odd enough. The high-collared black dress with a slit from the hem to mid-thigh was enough to make his eyebrows go up.

“Are you going to let me in?” Q asked, brows drawing down into the familiar look of dissatisfaction. And oh, those had definitely been shaped. Numbly, Bond stepped back to let Q stalk in on his high black heels. Q turned around once he was into the room, arms crossed across the folds of fabric over his chest.

Bond shut the door. “You’re not wearing your glasses.”

Q looked like he dearly wanted to roll his eyes. “Of course not, I can hardly go around in a dress like this with glasses. Specially designed contacts.”

Bond looked away from Q’s face, definitely not noticing how the eyeliner and mascara highlighted the undefinable color of his eyes, studying the dress instead. Whoever had picked it out had done a good job; the folds of the fabric around his chest and hips made him look curvier than normal, and the high neckline prevented the need for any sort of cleavage. The open back and high slit compensated for the lack of skin at his chest, making the classy look take a sexier edge. Of course, the complicated knot that Q’s newly-long hair had been worked into helped.

“Well? Don’t we need to be at this party in a quarter hour?” Q asked with his normal posh accent still in place.

“We do,” Bond replied, slipping back into the persona he needed to complete this mission. He tugged his tuxedo jacket straight, making sure his gun was properly concealed, and offered an arm to Q. His quartermaster took it primly, but didn’t lean on him at all as they walked down the hallway. With the heels Q was wearing, he was about an inch taller than Bond, but not enough to look out of place.

“I thought you were scared of flying,” Bond said a few moments later, as they waited for the elevator.

Q glanced over at him, none of his emotions showing on his face. “You needed my help,” he replied plainly. And that, it seemed, was that.

.oOo.

The party was less fun than Bond had expected. He could usually say he enjoyed them whenever he went to one for a mission; what’s bad about drinking a properly made drink, flirting with beautiful women, and, at the end of the night, saving Queen and country? But every time he made to ask the bartender for a drink, Q shot him a look that seemed to say ‘how are you going to stop evil henchmen from shooting me if you’re drunk?’. And men came over in a constant stream, offering Q drinks that Bond was sure were laced with some kind of drug.

He barely lasted an hour until he pulled Q closer and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Are you ready?”

Q raised an eyebrow at him, the small smile turning up the corner of his mouth his only sign of agreement. He laid a manicured hand on Bond’s knee, starting in on the ruse they had decided on. Bond’s hand slid around Q’s waist, to rest against the skin of his back, just above the edge of the dress. He slid his lips down Q’s jaw; Q tilted his head slightly, in the appropriate response.

“I think this party has gotten rather dull,” Bond said quietly, but loud enough for the men sitting near them to hear. “I’d much rather start on our…private party.”

“That sounds agreeable,” Q murmured in response, one hand landing on Bond’s bicep and squeezing lightly.

Bond stood, dislodging Q’s hand on his knee, and used the hand on his back to guide Q out of the party. No one spared them a second glance; the low placement of Bond’s hand left no question as to what they were off to do.

At least until they were around the corner in the house, heading down the hallway towards the boss’s office. Bond’s hand left Q to grip his Walther, keeping it inside his jacket but ready to be whipped out in an instant. Q had opened the small clutch purse he was carrying, exposing what looked like a mini computer. Bond didn’t focus too much on it; he was much more interested in watching to make sure no one was coming up to them.

Suddenly, they heard footsteps from around the corner in front of them. They sounded unhurried, not like someone responding to a suspected security breach. There were no doors in this stretch of hallway, though, and thus no place to hide. Bond glanced at Q, who was looking back at him, obviously waiting for Bond to make a decision: shoot or run.

He pivoted, pulling Q with him and pressing his quartermaster against the wall. Before Q could make a sound Bond pressed their lips together, making it seem like they were a couple simply too eager to make it to a room. Q, still miraculously holding his clutch, put his arms around Bond and pulled him closer. Bond put one hand on Q’s thigh, exposed by the slit in the dress, and the other on the wall beside Q’s head.

Q was a surprisingly ferocious kisser, Bond noted. His quartermaster’s lips were soft but yielded nothing, and he even nipped at Bond’s lips once. Bond responded in kind, flicking his tongue against Q’s painted red lips until they opened to him. It was Q’s tongue, however, that slid into Bond’s mouth, twining with the agent’s and not giving an inch.

Distantly he could hear the footsteps stop as whoever it was rounded the corner. He didn’t try glancing over, sure that it would ruin their ruse if he did. Q’s fingers dug into his shoulder, pulling him more into their embrace. Bond responded by hitching Q’s leg up slightly to hook around his own, leaning more into him.

“Excuse me, you can’t be here,” Someone told them. Bond pulled away from Q and looked over at him, putting on an embarrassed expression.

“I’m sorry, we got a bit lost,” he said, letting go of Q’s leg and letting him put his foot back on the ground. “We’ll go.” Q let go of him, letting him step back and straighten his jacket.

Suddenly the man was attacking him, fist aimed for his cheek. Bond ducked it, hitting him with an elbow to his cheek and knocking the breath out of him. The man stumbled back; Bond followed him, wanting to move the fight away from Q, hitting him in the stomach next. Bond drew out his gun as the man doubled over, bringing it down on his temple to knock him out cold.

“It won’t be long until someone finds him,” Bond said, turning back to Q, who had his mini-computer out again. “We need to get moving.”

“The security office will be the first door on the right,” Q told him, walking surprisingly quickly down the hall and turning around the corner with Bond at his side.

“How can you walk that fast in those shoes?” Bond asked, going down on one knee in front of the correct door and picking the lock in a few seconds. Q gave him a pitying look as he opened the door.

“Your uni days must have been exceptionally boring,” Q replied, leading the way into the empty room. Bond was stunned for a moment, before carefully labeling the idea of Q crossdressing in uni as a thought to return to later and following Q into the room

.oOo.

They returned to Bond’s room at the hotel about an hour later, the files from the safe stored in a specially-added pocket in Bond’s jacket. Q placed his clutch-slash-computer on the table by the door, starting to work the knot out of the extensions in his hair. Bond closed the door, watching Q carefully.

Q sat on one of the cream-colored couches, toeing off his heels to flex his toes. His head tilted back, showing off his pale neck. “Aah, that feels so much better. I forgot how much those hurt.”

“You didn’t look like you were in pain,” Bond responded, walking carefully to sit next to Q. There was a whole other couch on the other side of the coffee table; he ignored it, unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket and shrugging it off. Q looked over at him, his ruby red lips twitching up at the corners.

“I am rather skilled,” Q told him, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back away from the couch. Bond’s eyes trailed down what he could see of Q’s skin through the open back, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. When he met Q’s eyes again, his quartermaster was smiling knowingly at him.

Suddenly Q turned, his back facing Bond. “Can you undo the buttons?” Q asked, gesturing to the three tiny buttons holding the two sides of the halter together, then pulling his hair out of the way. “I can’t do them myself.”

Bond nodded, even though Q couldn’t see, and reached out to unbutton them slowly. He brushed his hands against Q’s back more than was strictly necessary, but he couldn’t really be blamed for it. He kept his hands on Q’s back as the front of the dress slid down, pooling at Q’s waist.

Q twisted slightly to look back at him, showing off the milky pale skin of his chest. “Thank you, 007.”

“James,” he murmured in reply, leaning forward to claim those sinfully red lips. Q responded to the kiss immediately, his lips parting slightly and one hand brushing against Bond’s arm. Bond wrapped an arm around Q’s waist, pulling his quartermaster almost onto his lap.

Q didn’t seem to mind. He tightened his hold on Bond, pulling himself closer, his naked upper half pressing against Bond’s dress shirt. One of Bond’s hands settled on his lower back, just above the edge of the dress.

“I think you’re wearing too much,” Q told him, pulling back just enough to speak. His deft fingers plucked Bond’s bow tie out of its bow, starting on the buttons as soon as it was undone. The lipstick he had been wearing was smudged slightly; Bond swiped his thumb over the outline of Q’s lips, making it perfect once again. Q smirked slightly, sliding his hands over Bond’s chest once the shirt was mostly unbuttoned. “There, that’s a bit more even.”

“At least until I get the rest of this dress off of you,” Bond replied, thumbing one of Q’s nipples but not taking his eyes of his quartermaster’s face. Q’s eyes closed, his blood red lips parting on a near-silent moan. Bond rubbed more firmly, ducking his head to press bruising kisses against Q’s neck.

Q moaned audibly this time, his head falling back and exposing more of his pale neck for Bond. His hand cupped the back of Bond’s head, ruffling his short hair and urging him to kiss and suck to his heart’s content.

Bond did just that, his hand on Q’s back sliding down to cup his ass as he sucked a bruise into the hollow of Q’s throat. Q swallowed heavily, throat working against Bond’s mouth, his fingertips digging into the agent’s shoulders.

“I think it’s time to get you out of this dress,” Bond muttered, feeling along the side for a zipper. Q grabbed his hand and guided it to the left side, helping him pull down the zipper tab until he could shimmy out of the dress. Bond pulled away to help him get the dress off, tugging it down his legs and letting it pool on the thick carpet of the hotel room.

He looked back up, Q’s ruby red smirk telling him something was different. His eyes traced over Q’s body, down past his pale pink nipples and the lithe lines of his chest, to the scraps of lace gripping his thighs. Bond licked his lips, blunt fingers toying with one of the lace bands.

“Lace thong?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced up again.

“Couldn’t have any lines from briefs,” Q replied smugly. “And the lace is so much prettier than cotton.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Bond answered, dragging his fingers along the lace around to the swell of Q’s ass, following it down his crack and listening as Q’s breath hitched. “Like that, do you?” he asked rhetorically as he pressed the tip of one finger to his entrance.

“As if you don’t know,” Q retorted breathlessly, pushing back against his fingers. His erection was straining against the silk front of the thong, the head peeking out over the lace band at the top. Bond leaned in to lick at the slit, making Q buck up and swear. “Get on with it, 007.”

“I thought I told you to call me James,” Bond retorted, pulling back to scatter light nips across Q’s inner thighs. Q spread his legs a bit, giving him more room; Bond rewarded him with a kiss to the tip of his erection before retreating again to suck a bruise on his thigh.

“I’m going to kick you in the head if you don’t get a move on, James,” Q threatened, sounding like he would most definitely follow through. Bond took those words to heart, pulling the front of the thong under Q’s balls so he could lick a stripe up the side of his cock. Q moaned softly, turning his head to press it against the back of the couch. He watched with half-closed eyes as Bond sucked on the head, then went down further and further.

Q groaned when Bond’s lips touched the base of his cock, feeling the agent’s throat flutter around the head of his cock. Then Bond retreated to swirl his tongue around the crown, then back down again until Q was gasping and trying to buck up against the iron grip Bond had on his hip.

Bond kept that rhythm going, starting to rub a finger against Q’s entrance in counterpoint to the bobbing of his head. He could feel the muscles in Q’s thighs twitching, his breath hitching every time he was swallowed down or Bond rubbed a bit harder at his entrance.

“If I come without you inside me, I’ll—” Q’s threat was cut off as Bond sucked almost inhumanly strongly on just the head, making his quartermaster groan.

“You’ll what?” Bond asked, voice only slightly raspy, his lips brushing against the sensitive head of Q’s cock as he spoke.

“I’ll set off your exploding pen when it’s in your pocket,” Q replied breathlessly, running his tongue over his cherry red bottom lip.

“I think you’ll suffer more from that than I will,” Bond answered, but pulled back from Q’s erection to unbuckle his own belt. Q watched him, not moving an inch to help undress him. Bond smirked, tossing his unbuttoned shirt to the side and sliding his pants down his legs until he could kick them off. His socks came off quickly and without a show; his underwear was an entirely different story. He pulled them down slowly, making sure Q’s eyes stayed on the black boxer-briefs as they slid off his hips and down his thighs.

“You better have some lube here,” Q complained half-heartedly, his heated gaze still on Bond’s groin. Bond felt a bit flattered, honestly.

“Over by the bed,” he replied, not moving an inch.

Q raised an eyebrow but stood up, his cock bobbing slightly with the movement. He stalked over to the bed, seemingly completely unaffected by Bond’s eyes glued to his ass. He swung his hips a bit as he walked, just to add the extra spark, and bent over at the waist to dig through the small nightstand by the king-sized bed.

Q stood straight and turned when he found it, dangling the small tube from his hand and smirking at Bond. “Are you going to join me?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, then twisting to rest his back on the multitude of pillows at the head. He spread his legs, bending one and resting his foot flat on the duvet, showing off the trail of the thong behind his balls.

Bond didn’t even bother replying; he just stood, making his way over to the bed with a casualness he didn’t feel. He crawled up from the foot, like Q was prey he had been stalking for weeks. Really, an entirely accurate metaphor.

“I’ve been wondering what your cock would feel like inside me,” Q purred, pressing the tube into Bond’s hand when the agent was propped over him. “Looks like I’ll finally be able to figure out.”

“I can tell you now,” Bond replied, pressing his lips to Q’s again, running his free hand down Q’s torso until he could wrap it around the base of his cock and tug lightly. “It’ll feel fantastic, better than anything you’ve had before.”

“That’s a promise you better keep,” his quartermaster replied breathlessly, his head falling back to rest on the burgundy pillows behind him. His thrust up into Bond’s fist, a soft moan falling from his ruby red lips. He rocked his hips sinuously into Bond’s unmoving hand. Soon enough, as Q’s moans grew louder and increasingly more desperate, Bond tightened his grip to stop him from coming.

“Not yet,” he said, when Q fixed a glare on him. He let go of Q’s cock, popping open the lube with his other hand and smearing some on his first three fingers. Q’s glare lessened slightly, an expression of need taking over his face.

“Well then get a move on.” Q spread his legs wider, leaving no doubt about his wishes. He slid further down the bed, so he was flat on the duvet with his ass almost in Bond’s lap, the agent’s cock tantalizingly close.

Bond just smirked and circled Q’s entrance with one finger, holding the lace strap out of the way with the back of his hand. Q bucked down, trying to force his finger in. He was, of course, unsuccessful.

“James, I swear—”

Bond slid his finger in to the first knuckle, then to the base when Q gave no sign of pain or tension. Q let out a sigh of pleasure, his toes digging into the duvet as he tried to push back against Bond’s finger. Bond took pity and started moving his finger, slow, tiny thrusts, curling it every so often to rub against his walls.

“That’s your reward for doing what I asked,” Bond told him, looking up to try to catch Q’s eyes.

“Fuck you,” Q retorted, mustering the strength to pick up his head and scowl at Bond.

“I believe it’s going to be the other way around,” Bond replied lightly, slipping in another finger rather easily next to his first finger, and making Q toss his head back again with a loud moan.

“You insufferable…bastard…” Q panted as Bond started thrusting with both fingers, a bit more force behind it. He spread his fingers slightly in response, reveling in the groan it tore from Q’s blood red lips.

“I think one more should do it,” Bond said to himself, working his ring finger inside. Q moaned loudly; Bond wasn’t completely sure if it was agreement or pleasure. He decided it was both and continued on. Usually he would take the time to make Q fall apart from the pleasure of having his fingers inside, but his desperation was winning out. He had barely enough self-control left to stretch Q properly, never mind drawing it out even longer. Next time, he promised himself, determined to convince his quartermaster to join him in bed again.

“I’m ready,” Q groaned, clearly irritated. He had lifted his head to glare down at Bond even as he bucked back against Bond’s fingers. Q’s expression was just combative enough to hide his nervousness, but Bond had practice in reading people, especially his quartermaster. 

“Not yet,” Bond replied with control he had thought was drained. He spread his fingers, pressing against Q’s walls until they pushed against the bump of his prostate. Q swore and thrust back against his fingers, his head dropping back onto the bed.

“Bond if you don’t get inside me in the next ten seconds I will send you on your next mission with a water pistol,” he grit out, rutting desperately against Bond’s fingers. Bond forced a chuckle, easing his fingers out of the tight grip Q’s body had on them. The lace of Q’s underwear shifted back over his entrance, hiding it as Bond sat back and grabbed the lube.

Q’s hands went to the straps on his bony hips, intending to pull the underwear off.

“Don’t,” Bond murmured, leaning over him, a hand still working lube over his cock. “I want to fuck you while you’re wearing them.”

Q huffed but moved his hands to Bond’s shoulders. “Next time you’ll want to fuck me while I’m in a dress, too.”

Bond ignored the thrill of Q mentioning a next time; now was the time to focus. He held the lace of Q’s thong out of the way with a thumb as he carefully pressed inside.

“I’m not going to break,” Q complained breathlessly, his eyes slipping shut. Bond noticed for the first time the eyeliner around Q’s now-closed eyes was purple instead of black, that blush had been painted onto his quartermaster’s cheeks. He kept his eyes on Q’s face, on his eyes and cheeks and devilishly red lips, as he slowly thrust all the way in, disregarding Q’s complaint. He waited barely a breath when he was fully inside, savoring the tight clench of Q’s muscles around him and the filthy moan Q let out, before pulling out and thrusting in again.

Q bucked back against him, forcing a grunt from Bond as his thrust turned out harder than he had planned. Q didn’t seem to mind; he moaned louder this time, fingertips digging into the hard muscles of Bond’s back. Bond set up a steady rhythm, his body following it as he let his mind focus on the view Q offered him.

It was a spectacular view, if Bond was honest. Q’s back was arched a bit, his pink nipples standing out in contrast to the pale skin of his chest. His head was flung back, making his neck look even longer. The newly-long strands of his hair were fanned out on the pillow under his head, no longer in any kind of hairstyle. But Q’s half-lidded eyes still stared into Bond’s, his sinfully red lips parting with a gasp or a moan with every thrust.

“Can’t you do better than this?” Q managed to say, even as Bond noticed the damp silk of Q’s precome-soaked underwear sticking to his stomach. “You’re not exactly living up to your promise.”

“You have very high standards, Quartermaster,” Bond murmured in reply, punctuating his words with a particularly hard thrust aimed perfectly to hit his prostate. Q’s entire body tensed, a loud moan ripping from his throat. “I endeavor to raise them.”

Q couldn’t respond, obviously overcome with the way every thrust managed to slam into his prostate. His eyes were closed, now, with barely noticeable tension lines around them, and hands were shaking almost imperceptibly on Bond’s back. Bond grunted as Q’s nails dug into his skin slightly, but they were too short to draw blood.

“Next time I’m going to take my time,” Bond told him through his own rapid breaths. Q didn’t give any reaction to show that he had heard, but Bond knew he had. He knew his quartermaster. “I’ll take you apart inch by inch, make you come in every way you can think of, and some you can’t even imagine. Maybe I won’t even fuck you, just use my fingers until you’re begging for it. Maybe I won’t put anything inside you and just make you come with my mouth over your cock.”

And that’s when Q came. Every muscle in his body tensed, his bony knees digging into Bond’s hips. His back arched sharply, pressing the stained, soaked silk of his panties against Bond’s stomach as the agent continued to thrust into him. Bond had lost any semblance of control, his hips pistoning in and out as he reached for his own release. Q let out a breathy moan with every thrust into his over-sensitized body, barely holding onto Q anymore.

Finally Bond stilled, coming with a loud groan he muffled against Q’s neck. One of Q’s hands slipped up to cradle the back of his head, long fingers brushing through the short hairs as Bond panted and shook his way through his orgasm. It took long moments for Bond to lift his head again, meeting Q’s eyes.

“That was rather excellent,” Q told him, entirely too coherent for the situation.  
Bond kissed him, surprisingly gentle. “I expect I have earned the right to a weapon other than a water pistol?”

Q let go of him at last, stretching his arms over his head and tilting his head to the side slightly, as if considering it. He waited until Bond rolled onto his side and pulled Q against him, tugging the sheets over them both, before responding. “A few more nights like this and I might start working on that car you want,” he confided, arranging Bond’s arms around him until he was satisfied, tucking his head under Bond’s chin.

“That’s excellent motivation,” Bond replied, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. 

Q yawned, the top of his head nudging Bond’s chin. “Shouldn’t take too long, if you fulfill your promise for this ‘next time.’ Now turn off the lights, 007. I’m tired.”

Bond reached over and turned off the lamp, settling his arm back in the Q-approved placement when he was done.

“Perfect,” Q murmured on an exhale, one hand shifting to rest over Bond’s heart. Bond laid back and listened to his quartermaster’s breathing as it slowed and evened out, listening as he dropped off to sleep. Only when Q started snoring gently did he close his eyes and let sleep take him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my gift-fic for my followers on tumblr, promised to them when I reached 100. It's a bit late, but I hope they like it anyway! Cross-posted for them to my tumblr, same username and title as here.
> 
> Inspired by my dad (oddly enough), when he asked who the Bond Girl was in Skyfall. 'Q' was my first thought, and well...it grew from there. Everyone knows Bond Girls were pretty dresses.
> 
> Q's dress was made from my imagination. The closest I could get was this (http://www.saksfifthavenue.com/main/ProductDetail.jsp?FOLDER%3C%3Efolder_id=2534374306422140&PRODUCT%3C%3Eprd_id=845524446533865&R=8051409089860&P_name=Armani+Collezioni&N=306422140+399545628&bmUID=jK_ZWX6) as the front and this (http://www.google.com/imgres?um=1&hl=en&sa=N&tbo=d&biw=1366&bih=600&tbm=isch&tbnid=eMUa3ZamdkiD9M:&imgrefurl=http://www.newsgab.com/celebrity-pictures/118796-scarlett-johansson-83rd-annual-academy-awards-feb-27-2011-purple-dress.html&docid=cpcQw4qNqstDEM&imgurl=http://www.newsgab.com/attachments/celebrity-pictures/375763d1299073095-scarlett-johansson-83rd-annual-academy-awards-feb-27-2011-purple-dress-sj15.jpg&w=1607&h=2600&ei=njjVULRd0bPRAaimgLAF&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=1149&vpy=81&dur=7231&hovh=286&hovw=176&tx=154&ty=163&sig=103362278055748257498&page=1&tbnh=140&tbnw=85&start=0&ndsp=31&ved=1t:429,r:10,s:0,i:120) as the back but without the lace. Also, it's black instead of either of those colors.
> 
> My portrayal of Q was heavily influenced by my wonderful rp partner astarwhichfellfromthesky on tumblr, I would have had much more trouble with his character if not for her.
> 
> As always, comments/questions/corrections/complaints/compliments are appreciated.


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